Severus Snape hated children, hated Hogwarts and hated Christmas, but most of all he hated Albus Dumbledore. He hated children because they were stupid, spoiled and noisy. He hated Hogwarts because it was full of children. He hated Christmas because the children at Hogwarts tended to get even more stupid, spoiled, and noisy at Christmas time. As for why he hated Albus Dumbledore, well…
Albus loved Christmas. He loved everything about Christmas. He loved Christmas carols, which he sang far too often and far too loud, and which he occasionally bullied other staff members into singing as well (Severus always obstinately refused, except for the one time that Albus hexed him so that every time he opened his mouth, all that came out was ‘Jingle Bells’, no matter what he was really trying to say). Albus loved Christmas dinner, and if Minerva McGonagall hadn’t managed to talk some sense into the man, they would have all been eating turkey for the entire month of December, and possibly into January too. Albus loved Christmas trees (there were 1,472 different trees in the castle this season, all decorated in gaudy *Gryffindor* red and a green that was definitely *not* Slytherin).
But worst of all, Albus loved the Christmas Spirit. He thought spreading joy, peace, and love around the school was a good thing, and he delighted in using Christmas traditions to do so. One of these traditions was, of course, hanging mistletoe. Albus thought it was a fantastic idea that one should have to kiss another person if they happened to step under said mistletoe. He loved the idea so much that he had charmed all the mistletoe in the castle, so that whoever stepped beneath it was trapped in a magical bubble until they kissed someone.
Severus had been caught unawares early this morning, as he’d entered the Great Hall; he’d stood there helplessly while students filtered past him, glaring at Albus and the rest of the staff, for long minutes, unable to free himself. Dark magic would of course have done the trick, but he had promised not to do dark magic in the castle, so he was just resigning himself to the fact that he was going to spend the rest of his life suspended in the East Entrance of the Great Hall when Professor Hooch walked by. She was close enough that he could snag her robe, haul her backwards, and plant a kiss on her surprised lips. At once the charm was lifted and he could make his escape, whirling around to return to his dungeons, but not before he heard Hooch muttering something about him being a “traitor to all things queer” as she stalked away.
Severus scowled into the cauldron before him. He didn’t want to admit it, but Hooch’s words had hurt him, only because the word ‘traitor’ seemed to cut him to the bone these days, though he would never show it. His hand had been forced only weeks before, when the choice between maintaining his cover as a spy for the light and saving a bunch of worthless Gryffindor students had been placed before him. Merlin preserve him; he hoped he’d made the right choice.
Being tortured nearly to death hadn’t hurt his feelings especially; it was to be expected, as were the attitudes of most of his ex-fellow Death Eaters. No, what had hurt had been the loss of his lover and friend, Lucius Malfoy, who’d secretly set things up so that Severus had a chance of escape (which he took immediately of course), and then who had shown up in his dungeons, tears glittering unshed in his perfect grey eyes (tears of sadness or tears of anger? It was impossible to tell), to inform Severus that he wouldn’t “fuck a traitor to his blood.” Severus had watched him go because it would have been pointless and humiliating to argue, but he had lost a part of his life that he would sorely miss, and he couldn’t tell anyone about the pain he felt (not that he would have anyway, but…) because he couldn’t tell anyone how for the last twenty years he’d been sleeping with the enemy.
Severus sighed, tossing some ground nettle into the cauldron and folding it into the mix. The mixture needed to simmer for a few minutes, so he allowed his attention to wander. It focused, of course, immediately on the offensive little sprig hanging from his laboratory door – mistletoe.
Albus thought himself dreadfully clever.
Severus was cleverer. He’d been checking for mistletoe in every doorway he’d passed through, and even periodically examined the high ceilings of the castle, to ensure he didn’t get stuck again. For some reason Albus delighted in tormenting Severus especially, but it wasn’t going to happen this year. Severus’ skills were honed by decades of evading danger in life or death situations; avoiding mistletoe was surprisingly easy compared to that. He’d smiled grimly, walked three doors down to an empty classroom that had no mistletoe hanging in its doorway, and flooed over. He’d been in the lab most of the day since the breakfast incident, making potion after potion: Pepper-Up and Skele-Grow for Poppy’s supplies, Wolfsbane for the local menace, and, currently, a pain potion for the resident Death-Eater bait, whose scar had been hurting him more and more as He-Who-Refused-To-Bloody-Well-Stay-Dead gained power.
Speaking of the devil (the bait, not the Dark Lord), there was a soft knock at the laboratory door, and Harry Potter poked his head in, saying, “I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but I was wondering if - ” It was at that precise moment that the boy realized he was stuck in the door, caught under the magical mistletoe, and his voice trailed off.
Severus allowed himself a malicious little smile. He clucked in irritation. “Well, go on, Potter, you were wondering what?”
“Um…” he wriggled and looked at the Potions master helplessly, trying to gesture at himself stuck in the door. Severus just looked back, scowling.
“I haven’t got all day, Potter,” he growled.
“Oh. Well, that is, I was wondering if my potion was ready.” The boy took a breath to say more, but Severus cut him off.
“Yes, nearly.” He turned off the heat beneath the cauldron, then funnelled the mixture into a bottle. “I’ll just leave it here for you.” Smirking openly, Severus reached for the floo powder on the mantle.
“Sir? Professor Snape, sir?” Harry squeaked. Severus sighed and turned from the fire, his face darkening.
“What is it, Potter?” he ground out.
“Well, I mean, you’re – you’re not going to leave me like this, are you?” The boy gestured at his predicament, and Severus’s mean little smile returned.
“Well, yes, I think I am,” he replied. He turned back to the fire, threw in the floo powder, and articulated, “Slytherin Common Room” before stepping through the hearth and disappearing.
Three or four hours later, he realized that he needed to restock his personal supply shelves, so he headed back to the laboratory by floo. To his surprise, Harry Potter was still standing in his doorway. “That’s supposed to be taken immediately,” he growled, indicating the potion still sitting at the desk.
“Well,” Harry harrumphed, clearly at his wit’s end, “I’d have taken it if I could have gotten there, wouldn’t I have?”
Severus cocked his head. “And why are you still stuck in the doorway, Potter? Wouldn’t anyone give a kiss to the Boy-Who-Lived?”
“No one’s been bloody down here but you, you prat!” Harry shouted back.
Severus tsked. “Ten points from Gryffindor for disrespecting a teacher,” he replied calmly. Harry’s face went purple with rage, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.
Snape watched him through half-lidded eyes as he refilled flask after flask and stocked his shelves. Potter was openly glaring at him, a grimace marring his features. Just like his father, Severus thought idly. Unbelievably beautiful, and unbelievably irritating. James Potter had been the poster child for his year, and he knew it – all of the straight girls and gay boys had been lining up at his door, including one very stupid and naïve Severus Snape, who quickly learned better. One pathetic valentine in second year – that was all it had taken for James Potter to finally notice the dark haired Slytherin, and the king of Gryffindor hadn’t liked what he saw. After that, Potter and his gang of thugs made life hell for Severus.
He sighed, remembering. Thank Merlin for Lucius, he thought. I never would have made it through without him. Then he frowned and swallowed hard against a sudden pang in his heart, a shiver of sadness that ran through him like a current. He had never expected to hang on to Lucius forever, but he hadn’t realized how close to love he’d gotten. The image of the silver haired man, tears reflected in his eyes, fastened itself to Severus’ consciousness, and he sighed again, this time more heavily.
“Professor?” a voice called nervously. “Are you – are you all right?” He glanced up sharply, fixing a glare at Potter, whose sneer had melted into what appeared to be genuine Gryffindor concern.
“I’m fine, Potter,” he growled back, stalking back to the floo. “Enjoy your stay. Severus Snape’s bedchambers,” he grumped at the fireplace, and disappeared.
Back in his chambers, where even Albus’ magic couldn’t penetrate and where there was therefore no threat whatsoever of mistletoe appearing where it wasn’t wanted, Severus gave in to his melancholy and poured himself a nice, stiff drink. It felt good, so he poured another. By drink five, he had forgiven Lucius. By drink seven, he’d forgotten about him. Around about drink 11 or 12, he started thinking about the Boy-Who-Was-Currently-Frozen-In-His-Potions-Classroom-Door.
Potter. The name had so many connotations. It brought up images of being tormented mercilessly in front of his peers, reduced to helplessness again and again. James Potter had really been a dark lord in the making, he thought, reaching for the bottle. He knew how to humiliate people and make them love him at the same time. For Severus had attended every goddamn Quidditch game the boy had ever played, sitting in the shadows where he hoped he wouldn’t be noticed and openly staring at the graceful Gryffindor as he soared through the air, wind tousling his already unruly hair. Severus hadn’t been able to help himself. He couldn’t stop staring, not even after Sirius caught him and pointed it out to the whole of the school. There was something about James Potter that just made him want to look.
The younger Potter had inherited that something, Severus admitted to himself. He hadn’t noticed when the boy was younger, but now that he was seventeen, for all intents and purposes a man, and on his way to fulfilling one of the most powerful prophesies ever known, Severus had come to realize that Potter the second was just as intriguing as the first. More so, in fact, since Harry Potter didn’t seem to have the same arrogance as he father. Living for eleven years in a closet could probably do that to a boy, he mused, pouring out drink fourteen.
Severus let his mind wander, replaying different Quidditch scenes now, ones that starred Mr. Harry Potter and not James. With those startling green eyes, Harry was actually more attractive than his father, even though he was thin and small boned like the Evans girl had been. Severus smiled, thinking of the fine Seeker’s hands. Without realizing it, his imagination shifted from Quidditch scenes to something entirely different… leaning his head back, he imagined Harry on his knees before him, those delicate hands sliding up the older man’s thighs, wrapping around Severus’s cock…
He groaned, reaching down to free himself, and began stroking languidly. In his mind’s eye, Harry’s green eyes captured his gaze as the boy leaned over to take him in his mouth… Severus groaned again. Then he sat bolt upright. Wanking off to images of Potter on his knees was a grand idea, he thought, but fucking Harry Potter would be even better. And didn’t he have the boy caught in his Potions lab right this very second?
He lurched to his feet, the world spinning as he did so. Clumsily fastening his robes, he stumbled to the fire and belched out, “Potions Laboratory” and climbed in.
It took the Potions master a moment to reorient himself once he’d arrived in his classroom; he was much drunker than he’d thought he was. Straightening, he glanced around. Sure enough, Potter was still standing in the doorway, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Have you been standing there all this time?” Severus slurred, and Potter looked up, startled, as if he hadn’t realized the other man was there.
“Where else could I have gone?” he replied bitterly. “No one at all has been down here. I even tried to summon a house elf, but no one came.”
“They won’t come in here,” Severus agreed, leering at the boy. “It must have been terribly frustrating,” he continued conversationally, walking toward the door.
Potter picked up the strange tone but didn’t seem to know what to do with it. “It was, sir,” he replied quietly, no trace of defiance in his face.
Severus was too drunk to try and figure out what the look Potter gave him was – all he knew was that it wasn’t fury and it wasn’t terror, which meant everything was tickety-boo, so he walked right up to Potter and said, “I’m going to kiss you now.”
“All right,” came the soft reply. Severus dove in, hands weaving into the Seventh year’s hair, pulling Potter against him. He ground his cock against the boy’s leg as he leaned down and kissed him roughly, pushing his tongue against Potter’s lips. Potter moaned against him.
“Yes,” he moaned back, kissing harder. The charm was long since broken, and they stumbled into the hallway, tasting and touching frantically.
At length, Potter pulled away. “No,” he said. Severus didn’t let go. “Professor Snape, no!” the boy shouted.
The alcoholic haze that had taken over Severus’s brain receded at the sharp tone and he had a moment of sudden lucidity wherein he realized what he’d done. “Oh Merlin,” he whispered, backing away. “Potter – I…good Lord.” He was speechless. He’s assaulted a student. He’d assaulted the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. He didn’t have to worry about Voldemort catching him anymore, because Albus was going to fry him and serve him in place of the Christmas turkey. He felt the blood drain from his face.
“Professor?” Harry’s voice penetrated his shock, holding none of the expected rage, only confusion. “Severus.” Severus looked up, and was surprised to see Harry watching him with an impatient lustful look. “I only meant that we shouldn’t really be doing this in the hallway, sir,” he finished, and Severus felt himself come back to earth. He looked intently in the boy’s eyes to be sure, and Harry met his gaze, nodding. That was all the consent the older man needed. He grabbed Potter by his lapels and pulled him back through the door, kissing him fiercely under the mistletoe before pushing him up against a table and throwing up his robes. Potter was hard as a rock.
“Mmm,” Severus whispered, “All that for me? And do you see what I have for you?” He undulated his hips against Potter and the boy whimpered. “Do you want it?”
“Please, yes, sir,” Harry whispered back. Severus smiled. He liked the idea of a lover who called him sir. Harry was thrusting against him, scrabbling at the older man’s clothes. It took some effort, but eventually they were both divested of their robes and trousers and naked flesh met flesh. Both men groaned, kissing each other desperately.
“Accio lubricant,” Severus called, and a small blue vial came sailing over to them. He dipped his fingers in the greasy liquid and ran them down the cleft of Harry’s buttocks; Potter groaned and bucked against him. Gently, Severus pushed one finger inside, stroking Harry’s prostate.
“Please, more,” Harry could barely form words. Severus smiled.
“Yes,” he crooned, adding another finger and scissoring them gently. It seemed to take forever, but finally Harry felt a third finger come in, and then all were pulled out. He felt empty and whimpered a little. “Hush,” Severus said. The Potions master coated his impossibly hard cock with lubricant, and then edged his way inside his new lover.
Harry’s forehead scrunched up in pleasure and his green eyes locked with Severus’s black ones, staring intently. Severus felt himself get lost in the eyes as he worked his way all the way in. They both sighed, keeping still a moment, and then Harry whispered, “Move.” Severus complied, slowly and gently, building a rhythm, rocking Harry into him. He trailed one hand down the boy’s chest before cupping his balls, gently massaging them. Harry started making little incomprehensible noises, grunting and thrusting. Severus took the younger man’s cock in hand and began to stroke.
The intensity built. Severus was breath and gasps and heat and cocks and good, good, good as he rocked into Harry, and Harry was meeting him, kissing him, reaching up to touch his sensitive nipples and it was so fucking good – he began to stroke harder, pumping the man beneath him, and Harry came with a cry, his ass clenching around Severus’s cock. It was too much for the dark-haired man, and with a moan he came as well, his seed spurting up Harry’s channel. They lay together, foreheads resting against each other, for a moment. Severus panted as he tried to catch his breath.
After a few minutes, Harry began to stir under him, uncomfortable, and Severus straightened, sliding out of the boy. He stood up and pulled Harry into an embrace. “Reckless boy,” he murmured into the Gryffindor’s hair. “Seducing a teacher.”
Harry laughed. “If I’d known all I had to do was get you good and drunk, I would have foregone the whole mistletoe thing,” he replied. Severus looked down at him, surprised.
“What do you mean?” He asked.
Harry laughed again. “Ron and Hermione were down here looking for me half an hour after they left. Hermione offered to free me from the mistletoe the minute she saw me. I shooed them away. I was hoping you would release me.”
Severus nodded. “Of course,” he replied, “and I did.”
“Six hours later!”
“Five and a half,” the older man countered, “and what did you expect? I’m a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor.” They chuckled together.
“My Slytherin?” Harry asked a bit tentatively. Severus smiled.
“Keep in mind that I am still very much intoxicated,” he replied, “But it would appear so, yes.” He leaned down for a kiss, and their tongues met, weaving in and out of each other’s mouths sensually. Harry hummed contentedly. Severus slid his hands down to cup the firm buttocks and whispered, “Care for another round?”
“Only if I can be on top,” Harry replied. Severus nodded as if to say, of course, and let his hands drift lower. He felt Harry’s hands come down his chest, those fine Seeker hands wrapping around his cock just as he had fantasized…
“Ahem,” an embarrassed voice rang out, and the two lovers jumped apart in shock. Both of them blushed deeply and scrambled for their robes as they turned around. Remus Lupin stood in the doorway, blushing himself. “Er – excuse me,” he said upon gaining their attention, “But I seem to have gotten caught in the door.” He pointed at the mistletoe hanging above his head.
“How long have you been standing there?” Harry exclaimed.
Almost unconsciously, Remus’s hand travelled down to rub against his obviously hard cock. “Long enough,” he whispered back, swallowing. Severus grinned.
“What do you think, Harry?” He asked, “Should we make him wait as long as you did?”
Harry grinned, but shook his head. “With all due respect, sir, I’m a Gryffindor. I could never leave a friend in… need… for so long.” Severus nodded.
“Very well then,” he agreed. Together they advanced on the waiting werewolf.
Albus was happily humming “Deck the Halls” as he walked through the dungeons. He hadn’t seen Severus all day, and he wanted to make sure that his dear friend wasn’t still stewing over having to kiss Madam Hooch at breakfast this morning. Knowing Severus, he’d found a way to avoid all the mistletoe Albus had planted, but he didn’t like to see anyone sulking, especially around Christmas.
As he rounded the corner, he heard a strange sound, a kind of moaning and grunting that he couldn’t quite place. It sounded like Remus Lupin. There was a sigh that reminded him of Harry Potter, and then he distinctly heard Severus’ voice whisper, “Yes, Merlin, yes!” in a distinctly un-Snape-like tone. He hurried to the Potions Laboratory. The door was closed but the sounds were definitely coming from behind it.
Quietly, Albus opened the door and walked forward. What he saw froze him in his tracks: Severus was on his knees, pounding into Remus, who lay on his back with his legs spread wide, fisting his own cock. Harry Potter was braced against the Potions Master’s back, cock buried to the hilt in Severus. They were writhing and groaning, kissing and licking and sweating. Oh dear, he thought, I’ve come at a terribly inopportune time. He turned to go, only to find he was quite stuck.
He looked up to see the innocent little sprig of mistletoe hanging above him. Oh dear, he thought again. He opened his mouth to say something when he noticed a strange thing about Severus’s face.
Severus was smiling. Not his mean and nasty smile, not his I-know-something-you-don’t-know smile, but a genuine, happy, glad to be alive smile. He looked beautiful. Albus’s eyes softened at the sight. Oh well, he thought, I’ve got nothing else to do. I can wait. Popping a lemon drop into his mouth, he settled in to enjoy the show.